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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25234879">Takin' A Ride</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldandbeloved/pseuds/goldandbeloved'>goldandbeloved</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Neon Knights [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Heavy Metal (Movies), Mandy (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>70s, 80s, Cannabis, F/M, Heavy Metal, House Martell, House Targaryen, Multi, Polyamory, Prog Rock, Prophecy, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Taarakian, Targaryen, The Prince That Was Promised, everyone's old enough, neon knights, stoner lyanna, stoner rhaegar, taarna, teenage stoner lyanna, the dragon has three heads</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:22:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,423</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25234879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldandbeloved/pseuds/goldandbeloved</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Visions, hanging out at the record store and hoping for joy--Rhaegar has another day off. Again, inspired by Mandy with a dash of Heavy Metal. Thanks to Chss for the extra relationship inspiration!</p><p>A Westeros AU where it's always metal, always magic and always trippy.</p><p>Inspired by Panos Cosmatos' _Mandy_  and Heavy Metal (1981) as well as ASOIAF.</p><p>"When I die, bury me deep, lay two speakers at my feet, put some headphones on my head and rock and roll me when I'm dead." Douglas Roberts/ Panos Cosmatos</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Neon Knights [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Takin' A Ride</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His pale fingers ran over the albums, flipping back and forth, the scent of dust, spice and vinyl heavy in the shop, along with the sweet, resinous scent of hashish and Nag Champa incense. The colours on the posters shimmer in the afternoon heat and Rhaegar twists the long silver ribbon of his hair to one side, surreptitiously wipes his forehead with the black raglan sleeve of his ivory Don’t Fear The Reaper shirt. If there’s no one else in Sweet Lotus Records, Salladhor the owner will teasingly remark that he thought a customer like him could take the heat, his eyes gleaming with mischief.  On a previous visit Rhaegar had been in a particularly merry mood, despite the shop being full of customers, Rhaegar heard the fuzzy guitar, the organ music "You know that it would be untrue/ You know that I would be a liar…” Rhaegar had smiled silently, then seen that a special delivery from High Heart Farms had arrived for him.</p><p>(On that day, Salladhor and Rhaegar stayed in the back room chuckling, taking turns switching the record, listening intently to a particularly beautiful passage, passing one of Rhaegar’s red-papered joints back and forth. Salladhor had laughed, a warm, gentle one, soft like the tiny strands of grey hair at the base of his locks, the sunlight from the window turning his skin to smoky quartz. "A stone of protection." Rhaegar thinks, protected like Salladhor keeps the shop a quiet, peaceful island in the hustle and clamour of Flea Bottom. Between them, they’d smoked it down to the black foil filter, Rhaegar starting another.<br/>
“How are you going to get anything done if you smoke like that?” Rhaegar had chuckled. “Keeps me limber for yoga, good before training.”, thinking of deliciously long stretches fading into a hum of confidence, then at the right time going out, knowing his sword was waiting for him. “Besides, this strain’s Good Queen Alysane. She’s part of our history.”<br/>
“Yours, perhaps.” said the shop owner, raising an onyx eyebrow. “You know I have other Queens.” Smiling, Rhaegar had a toke, puff, puff, pass. “True. But she’ll be good to both of us.”</p><p>She was extremely good. Rhaegar had found himself lying on the floor, looking at the ceiling, the Day-Glo prints above humming bright as neon, his eyes picking out strange things, violet lips, a rippling sea of snowy grass at the end of the world, the poster on the wall with the belts and buckles on the woman riding a winged beast, sword held high, her hair in a cream and silver swirl, maybe Taarna the Tarakian like in his comics, maybe someone else altogether.<br/>
Something comes to him, a longing, a strange vision, surprising though he’s used to sitting with these by now, he feels six eyes in three red heads upon him.<br/>
“Salladhor. Hey. Salladhor.” Deep breath. “Do you ever dream of flying?”<br/>
Salladhor was suddenly silent. “I know you do.” They had been quiet after that, Salladhor turning up the stereo:<br/>
<i>And where will she go, and what shall she do<br/>
When midnight comes around<br/>
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown and cry behind the door. </i></p><p>Turning his head, Rhaegar heard a heart beating along to the record, saw it pulsing blue and luminous, its sapphire ventricles and veins shining in the air. Closing his eyes, Rhaegar saw a sun bleeding gold from its spear wound, breathed in the scent of deep blue winter roses,  felt the rush of air around him like he was dizzyingly higher up than the Red Keep, dropping suddenly to look at his own obsidian and ruby armour, slowly opening his eyes as the visor raised, thinking he saw a face, amethyst eyes--<br/>
Rhaegar had left that day, his head spinning like wings.)</p><p>Today the only visions he sees are the ones on the album covers. Selmy is in the other corner, flipping through the folk-rock, humming Completely round is the perfect pearl that nature manufactures/ completely round is the steering wheel that leads to compound fractures. He doesn’t love this the way Rhaegar does, but he’ll find plenty to do. There will be meat pies and frosty bottles of beer before they head back to the Red Keep. Ser Barristan is hungry, so he hopes Rhaegar’s performance today will be particularly good, especially since they’ll be in time to catch the post-work crowd.</p><p>	Rhaegar chooses a couple albums, watches as Salladhor packs them swiftly and expertly in brown paper, the vivid colours of the Giant’s Causeway, the title <i>Houses of the Holy</i>, bundled next to <i>Warrior on The Edge of Time </i> his eyes drawn to the bulletin board full of flyers. WHAT IS YOUR DESTINY? one blasted out in vivid red capital letters, a lurid picture of the Red God's flames under it, a tract rather than a flyer looking for someone to be in a band. (Lead guitarist advertisements always make Rhaegar sigh, <i>heavy is the head</i> he thinks , though he wears no crown.) He thinks of Elia, resting at home, how he’ll play them for her, tell her about the day out. He feels a sudden rush of tenderness and protectiveness towards her, knows he’ll stop and bring her honeyfingers on the way back like he used to do when—<br/>
For the first few months she had always been so hungry. Ravenous, eating the spiciest and sweetest things together, confounding Rhaegar. Twice, and he was just starting to, she was just starting to-- </p><p>Snap of fingers and he pays Salladhor with a fistful of silver stags. “You know, it’s never too late to go to the islands. Leave all this.” Salladhor hums along to the Earth, Wind and Fire on the stereo. Rhaegar sighs again. “Wish we all could.”<br/>
“Work, work, work.” Salvador says. “If I were you, I’d play by the Visenya’s Hill express bus. They’re going to have to wait because of construction. I know you’ll cheer them up.” Rhaegar smiles back, the door jingling on the way out. Playing, he thinks of Elia, then next to her an angular, slightly messy face, red leaves caught in the hair, blue roses again, blue roses. He works on instinct and there’s enough to bring Elia home a meat pie too. He’s always glad when she eats.<br/>
After Elia’s eaten and is sleeping, he plays in the dim light, picking out something sweet, a lullaby.<br/>
In the Red Keep, thinks of the gift he wished for, the one they built far away; a place of his own the space black, white and clean, a futon, a place for guitars and amps, black sheepskins and white shag carpet best of all, a chair hanging from the ceiling, a black egg with silver and red scoring for scales. The stereo has enough jacks for three pairs of headphones, security is good. Rhaegar feels at home there, his own space, somewhere to play, somewhere to store his Mysteries of the Unknown books, the ones on past lives, synchronicities, crystal communications, that he can’t have at the Red Keep. He thinks unbidden of all of them lying on the floor, listening, smoking, him playing, maybe Elia laughing again and--her. The dragon has three heads, must have three heads.<br/>
Rhaegar thinks of her, her ripped jeans, flannel shirt over a curve-skimming black biker tee, hair what someone from Highgarden might call bistre, a copy of Fortean Times rolled up in her back pocket, wonders what he could say.  He thinks of looking inside his own armour at a strange face, the scent of smoke, an echo of something he has never said, maybe never will or maybe not yet <i>zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor</i><br/>
He takes one last toke, starts playing, the song echoing through the halls of the Red Keep:<br/>
<i>Come down off your throne and leave your body alone.<br/>
Somebody must change.<br/>
You are the reason I've been waiting so long.<br/>
Somebody holds the key.<br/>
But I'm near the end and I just ain't got the time<br/>
And I'm wasted and I can't find my way home.</i></p><p> </p><p>Ah, Rhaegar wants to be in his space, somewhere without the weight of a monarchy atop him, heavy as blood-coloured stone. Home, he thinks. He wants that. As he climbs into bed, he thinks of the space, the shining weirwood bin where he’ll file his new albums. None of the Red Keep’s distress or prying eyes; this nest of his, Rhaegar thinks, will have only one thing, one loveliness, everything in it infused with joy, only joy.</p>
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